


speaking in tongues (and codas)

by momo (SwipingMonocles)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Coda, M/M, Mates, Multi, Not So Oblivious Dean, Oblivious Dean, Omega Dean Winchester, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, The winchesters are gay for each other and only one of them knows it, This is gonna be a long and bumpy ride so buckle down, a novel by the supernatural fandom, author hints at dark themes, because they're too much of a pussy to actually directly write about it, i'm ashamed but not ashamed enough to keep this to myself, sam winchester is a big angsty baby and so am i, we'll get there someday maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2018-10-06 15:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10338400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwipingMonocles/pseuds/momo
Summary: It started with the words ”Dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days,” and the scent of apple pie in Sam's nose. It started under the autumn moonlight in a college house in Stanford and ended the same way.orSupernatural but in Omegaverse





	1. the dark shines around you liars

s01e01

______

Sam’s escape had been Stanford. His salvation, his diversion. His repression. He had to get away… had to leave the life they’d been living, had to leave their father, _Dean_. He’d forgotten, or at least pretended to forget, easily enough. He met a pretty blonde beta and he loved her, he loved Jess because she was a star that shone so bright in the darkness of the night sky. She was his star but she would never be his moon, not the way _he_ was. But Sam kept ignoring, kept building and strengthening the walls that he’d carefully erected and he forgot, but he didn’t _forget_.

______

The night of the Halloween party, Sam is drowning in alcohol, trying his damndest to sleep it off when he hears a noise downstairs and yeah, he knows enough about what lurks in the shadows that he should really get out of bed and investigate before whatever it is decides to investigate _him_. He’s silent and stealthy and all alpha bravado as he creeps toward the room where the sound originated. In the split second between pausing at the doorway and actually seeing the open window, Sam is hit with a familiar scent— _his_ scent— and Sam’s chest tightens painfully but that can’t be right so he shakes it off and steels himself as he catches sight of a figure and follows it into the other room.

There’s darkness, broken by moonlight, someone’s heavy breathing—maybe his, maybe whatever’s in the room with him and then—

He’s grappling with the figure, a rush of adrenaline and his inner alpha roaring with the need to protect his home and he gets a few good hits in before he’s pinned and the scent hits him full force, knocking him back into his senses. His chest tightens again and—

”Dean?”

Yeah, there it is. There’s a jumble of naïve hope, realistic disbelief and something else that he can’t quite name which is broken with sadness in his voice. He recovers quickly enough and gets the upper hand on his brother and _god_ , how could he possibly have forgotten that scent?

Sam helps him up and they’re definitely standing too close. He feels like he’s drowning in the scent of his brother—it’s the metallic tang of gun grease and the smell of leather and exhaust that’s ever present but there’s the underlying layer that’s thick with cinnamon, sugar and the crisp autumn scent of ripe apples. Dean smells like home and love and everything else that Sam’s tried so damn hard to forget. They’re close enough that they’re breathing the same air and if he doesn’t move soon Sam knows he’s going to do something rash.

He’s saved by Jess—and really how could he ever have thought that he could live with a star so pale in comparison to his moon—when she flicks on the lights. They move apart, put some distance between them, quick and guilty in the sudden light that floods the room. Sam looks at her, trying to school the shame that’s obvious in his features because _he loves her_. But he loves Dean, too. More than he should. So, like the idiot he is, he quickly dams up the emotions that are trying to drown him and completely ignores his instincts— _the omega, the omega, mate, omega, my mate, my home, my_ — and moves to Jess. He breathes in her scent of biblichor, candles and warm summer rain and tries to ground himself. Tries to find the Earth beneath his feet again but goddamn it’s hard.

It’s hard when Dean says, ”Dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days,”

It’s hard when Sam can see past the bullshit calm façade that Dean’s trying to pull. It’s hard when he can smell distress from where he’s halfway across the room and trying to focus on Jess and he almost _whines_ in sympathy before he clamps right the fuck down on that shit and dismisses the confused beta in his arms. Family matters are family matters, after all.

______

It’s only after they narrowly avoid rousing the cops’ suspicion at the crime scene and get into the actual town that they find someone who could actually be of use to them in their investigation.

Sam’s gentle voice helps but it’s Dean’s comforting omega scent that actually gets the beta girl, Amy, to feel safe enough to talk to them and Sam feels a fleeting moment of pride in his omega before he remembers Jess and Stanford and _Monday_. 

The booth of the diner feels cramped and he and Dean are pressed together, thigh to thigh, so that they can both fit. The warmth Sam feels from the contact is searing and his brother’s scent is distracting him again. He’s lost in thinking about how long two years seems when he’s suddenly thrust back into close proximity with Dean, constantly breathing in his scent. He’s lost in thinking about how long it’s going to take him to get used to the omega’s scent again so that it isn’t so distracting, like a punch to the gut every time he breathes in.

Sam is distantly aware that he’s making faces at his coffee mug as he tries to collect himself and his thoughts while they talk and he’s brought back into the present conversation by the way Dean tenses when Amy’s friend, another beta, shifts like she knows something. God, he really hates dealing with urban legends.

______

It’s freezing that night when they make their way back to the bridge and Sam is regretting every single life choice he’s ever made. He feels bad, reminding Dean that he’s not gonna be a permanent fixture like this on any more cases after this one, and feels even worse when the scent of sadness reaches him on an errant breeze as the omega turns to face him.

“You have a responsibility.” _To the family, to the innocents. To mom._

So Sam plays stupid. He skirts the subject. He acts like the asshole alpha everyone says he should be.

“To what? To dad and his crusade?” _It’s you. It’s always been you, Dean. Why can’t you see that?_

Sam would be growling in frustration by now if the hurt and betrayal weren’t rolling off of his brother in waves. Then Dean throws him against the metal of the bridge and okay, that hurts, but Sam keeps himself carefully calm because Dean’s upset and it’s his fault and he said the wrong thing but he _didn’t ask for this_. He didn’t ask for any of it. He didn’t ask to be a hunter and he certainly didn’t ask Dean to come back and pull him in again, just when Sam had begun to fool himself that he could do it, that he could have a normal life.

He’s about to say as much when Dean catches sight of the ghost and Sam is there in an instant, instinctively placing himself between the spirit and Dean before he can really think about what he’s doing. But she doesn’t attack, doesn’t do anything but jump and then the Impala starts up _on it’s own_ and everything’s a bit of a blur after that but they’re both safe, they both make it out okay.

The real trouble comes later, after the motel room and the cops and his conversation with Welch. It’s when the woman appears in the backseat of the Impala and the car starts driving itself that Sam begins to rethink his earlier conclusion that they’re gonna make it out okay. 

The real trouble comes when he’s locked in the car with a vengeful ghost.

“You can’t kill me. I’m not unfaithful, I’ve never been.” Sam says with more than a little desperation in his voice but he’s pretty confident that he’s gold on that front. He changes his mind pretty quick though when she leans in and whispers conspiratorially in his ear like they’re a couple of old ladies gossiping in the knitting circle.

“ _She isn’t your mate_.”

Which, really, Sam calls bullshit because he’s pretty sure that doesn’t actually count, especially not when your mate either has no idea that’s what he is or he’s ignoring the fact that you’re mates and yeah, _that_ hurts to think about but luckily for him Sam doesn’t have a lot of time to think before the bitch starts _digging into his chest_ like she’s looking for buried treasure and _fuck_ he sure is happy to hear the gunshots ring out, signalling Dean’s arrival.

______

And, okay, he maybe took a little too much pleasure in driving the Impala through the house but c’mon it was _cool_. And they’re joking again, and it isn’t forced like before and they’re acting like _brothers_ again so of course Sam has to go and fuck it all up by reminding Dean of Stanford. By reminding him of Stanford and Jess and becoming a lawyer and leaving him _again_.

The mood drops so suddenly that Sam feels cold, like he’s been plunged headfirst into an ice bath and this time he does let out a choked whine when Dean pouts and postures and smells like petrichor and _sadness_. The scent is cloying all the way home, tugging at Sam’s instincts to _comfort the omega make it better your mate is unhappy_ but he buries those feelings and sullenly stares out the window for the rest of the journey.

When they arrive, he can’t get out of the car fast enough and he practically books it inside. He sags against the solid wood of the door after he’s shut it, closing his eyes and just standing there for a moment, soaking in the feeling of his and Jess’ mixed scents that permeate the house. It’s only after he’s thrown himself down on their shared bed that he realizes something smells off. After that, it’s a shock of heat and panic seizes his chest as he stares into the dead eyes of his burning girlfriend and Dean has to come save him because Sam can’t make himself _move_.

He feels hollow and empty for a long time after the fire department comes and a crowd gathers. Dean is practically glued to his side at this point, actively releasing comforting pheromones on instinct and Sam would think it was sweet if he didn’t know that Dean had no idea he was doing it and if he wasn’t still in shock about Jess. He supposes that he’s grateful for it, either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural Omegaverse episode codas feat. run-on sentences and way too many commas.
> 
> Also, I don't have a beta reader so any and all mistakes are mine and if y'all find anything just let me know.
> 
> posted: 3/17/2017  
> revised: 3/17/2017


	2. moon rise, thoughtful eyes

s01e02

______

Sam is… He feels wrong. It feels like someone dropped him and tried to put all of the shattered pieces back together in the wrong places. Nothing fits. He doesn’t feel whole. When he thinks about Jess, he feels loss the strongest, followed quickly by emotions of _hurt anger sadness confusion_ —a rapid-fire cycle that keeps him off-kilter and unbalanced as the Impala roars down back roads and forgotten highways. They weren’t mates but he had _loved her_. They weren’t mates but in the end he had killed her, hadn’t he? By keeping Jess in the dark, by trying to fool the both of them, by being a _sorry excuse for an alpha can’t keep a mate can’t keep a lover can’t protect anyone can’t_ —

He needs a distraction. And god if he isn’t thankful for Dean’s attempts at comforting him, clumsy and unsubtle as they may be. The scent of concern—loamy with a bitter metallic tang—is rolling off of his brother in waves and Sam feels his chest constrict, as the scent fills the interior of the Impala. It’s a feeling that he’s becoming alarmingly familiar with the more time he spends near Dean. His mate’s concern is so genuine that it _hurts_. It hurts Sam to know that he can’t find comfort in the one thing that could truly help. Not without crossing one of their barely-there boundaries.

So he makes a joke, brushes it off, pretends that he doesn’t feel like a raw wound full of salt. Pretends like he doesn’t feel untethered and a little bit frantic inside.

______

He shakes himself out of his weird headspace and puts on his professional big boy pants again when they reach the ranger station in the middle of fucking nowhere, Colorado. They’re smooth talkers and they shift tactics easily when the ranger thinks he has them figured out but the placating smile is wiped off of Sam’s face in an instant, the moment Dean starts his inquiry about obtaining a copy of the permit. He’s always stunned by the ease at which his omega brother can get even the most grizzled, tough alphas and betas to say ‘yes’ to him. Then again, Sam isn’t really one to talk. He’s never been able to say no to Dean. Probably couldn’t even if his life depended on it.

And okay, maybe he isn’t really all that subtle when he storms off after Dean when they finally get that copy of the permit for _that Haley girl_ and have left the tense atmosphere of the office but his emotions are a wreck and his instincts are just as bad and his inner alpha is _clawing_ to get out so Sam snarls and rounds on Dean in the little dirt parking lot. He’s pissed off and apparently pretty emotionally volatile. To both of their surprise, his anger isn’t loud or posturing, but cold and calm and steel-hard.

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” And fuck, he can’t keep the undercurrent of biting judgement out of his voice and if he could just _scent the omega hold him close your mate will help he smells so good let him—_

Dean looks properly taken aback and Sam can’t help the quick-snap thought of _’my good little omega listen to me you’re mine’_ that flashes through his mind. The streak of alpha possessiveness is so uncharacteristic of Sam that it knocks him into his senses enough that they find themselves knocking on Haley’s door a short while later. Sam’s still feeling like gravity is pulling him in a thousand directions at once and he can't seem to keep his head on straight, which isn’t helped at all by the easy banter between Dean and the beta girl. He’s painfully aware that he’s making bitchface #3 while they talk their talk but his girlfriend just died and his mate is flirting with another person and he feels like he woke up this morning and slipped on the wrong skin so sue him for being just a touch grumpy.

______

They analyse the video, do their research, ask their questions and Sam’s feeling a little bit better than he had been earlier that day. He’s in the groove. He’s getting back into the swing of things. Most importantly, it's beginning to feel like they're a team again. It's beginning to feel like they're the Winchesters again, rather than than just _Sam_ and _Dean_. Which is why he gets pissy again as soon as Dean starts lobbying for the remaining Collins siblings to accompany them on their little hike. 

"Her brother's missing, Sam. She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend." 

"Finding dad's not enough, now we gotta babysit, too?" The words are out of his mouth before he can access his brain-to-mouth filter because he's well aware that nothing he says will change Dean’s mind. Nothing anyone says can ever change Dean’s mind. Not unless it’s dad. 

Dean's staring at him with a weird look in his eyes and Sam's a more than a little fed up. "What?"

And boy, does the Winchester family give new meaning to the phrase ‘daddy issues’, Sam thinks bitterly as he narrowly avoids dropping the duffel bag that Dean tosses forcefully at him along with a "Nothing" that somehow means 'everything'.

Sam lets Dean drive off to the motel on his own— it isn't far and Sam needs to clear his head a little. He figures the night air will do him some good. He's feeling a little less unstable when he gets to their room, but the lights are all off and Dean's faking sleep which means that he's still pissed off at Sam.

It’s not much better when they wake up the next morning, a stony silence chilling the air between them the entire way to the reserve. The man that Haley hired to guide them is an alpha named Roy and he’s a grade-A asshole so Sam tenses even further at the interaction between Roy and Dean, preparing himself for a stand-off or something worse. To Sam’s surprise, his brother backs down first, gentling his voice and making a placating gesture that does nothing to hide the cocky smirk on his face. Sam rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure there’s a headache coming on and he just wants to get this whole thing over with.

______

Walking through the forest _fucking sucks_ and Sam definitely isn’t in the right state of mind to deal with the bullshit that is everyone in their little group being at odds with each other. He’s definitely not in the right state of mind to keep ignoring these little flashes of possessiveness that his primal alpha side is throwing into the mix—and yeah, thanks for that, mother nature. Not like it wasn’t already difficult enough for him, considering the circumstances.

His instincts get harder to ignore when Dean narrowly avoids losing a foot in the errant bear trap—which, really, with hikers and campers out here they should not be putting out fucking _bear traps_ —and Roy is _touching Dean_ and the self-satisfaction at saving an omega— _not his the omega isn’t yours back off don’t touch him he’s mine_ —is oozing off of the fucker in waves. Sam has to clench his jaw and swallow down the rumbling _growl_ that tries to break free. He only feels mildly better when he gets closer to Dean and can practically _feel_ the annoyance radiating off of his brother.

Later, of course, after the campsite and the voice and the revelation thanks to dad’s journal, the alphas clash heads and Sam can’t help it, not really. He doesn’t want to make the situation worse, definitely doesn’t want to split up the group but he’s wound tight, coiled like a spring and he needs to let off steam. He’s pretty sure his eyes have started to change to that deep blood red of _alpha_ so he’s thankful when Dean’s gruff voice cuts through those thoughts like a hot knife. Sam has to take a few deep breaths before he can even begin to think of reigning in his temper and he tries to speak calmly with Roy, tries to find the nicest possible way to say ‘ _you’re a fucking idiot and you need to listen to me_ ’. He doesn’t bother trying to stop the pheromones that he’s letting off that are broadcasting strength and _power_.

The other alpha doesn’t listen, of course he doesn’t, alphas don’t play nicely together even in the best of circumstances and Sam can feel his anger beginning to rise again. Without input from his logical brain, suddenly he and Roy are both posturing, baring their teeth and clearly itching for a fight when he’s suddenly pushed back and away from the other alpha, Dean’s scent assaulting his senses. Sam forgets himself for a moment, closes his eyes and takes advantage of the lack of distance between their bodies to lower his head and scent at his brother and Dean allows it, for a brief second, just enough to calm Sam down before he gently pushes him away, taking a hold of the situation with some help from Haley.

______

After they’ve set up the camp, put down the necessary symbols for protection and started a fire, Sam’s brooding in the dark, sitting stiffly on a log as close to the edge of the circle of protection as he can get. He tenses when Dean sits with him, letting out a long-suffering breath through his nose and wishes that his brother would leave him alone, just for a while. Because he can’t deal with the things that his mate’s scent does to him on a normal day and he really can’t handle it with the emotionally vulnerable state that he’s currently in. They have their little heart to heart and Sam’s inner alpha is practically drunk on the comforting pheromones that _his omega_ is blanketing him in but Sam’s fighting the hurt that brings—talking to his mate about his dead lover and god, his life is fucked up.

He’s almost thankful for the interruption when the Wendigo begins to taunt them, drawing everyone's attention almost instantaneously.

Sam's a little less thankful when the thing snatches up Roy and pulls a disappearing act with him, leaving their group disoriented, frightened and more than a little vulnerable in the suffocating darkness of the forest.

He somehow manages to be even less thankful when the thing fucking lures them into a trap the next morning and snatches Dean and Haley. Frightening your quarry seems to be a pretty good tactic to ensure a scattering of numbers and Sam really doesn't appreciate that this thing is at least a little bit smart—clever enough to separate to Winchesters because even if it doesn't know who they are, not really, it can still smell the danger and power on them.

The moment Sam realizes that it grabbed Dean, panic seizes him and he’s roaring out his brother’s name before he can stop himself, eyes flashing and anger and fear warring for dominance. He spends far too long in Alpha Mode, panicking and frantically trying to find _his fucking mate_ before the girl’s kid brother, Ben? Yeah, Ben. Okay. Before Sam manages to calm down enough to realize that Ben is still there with him and the boy’s obviously terrified—of Sam or the Wendigo or both, Sam doesn’t know—but the kid’s still valiantly trying to snap Sam out of the haze he’s receded into. Sam gets a grip and calms down enough to realize that he needs to protect the kid, not alienate him.

Once he feels like he isn't frozen in the little clearing anymore, they get moving and Sam does his best to radiate calm and confidence as they walk and talk but the boy still reeks of fear—harsh and cloying, like the smell of fermentation—and it’s putting Sam on edge. He can’t help the sharp sense of relief he feels when they find Dean’s trail and he feels another surge of pride for his omega, though that fades to a dim sense of apprehension when they find the mines. It flares up again when they finally find Haley and Dean, strung up like pigs at a butcher shop but otherwise okay. Sam whines pitifully at Dean’s obvious pain and discomfort when he lets the omega down, unable to help the concern that winds itself tight in his chest which earns him a glare and a stubborn brother.

Dean seems a little better after a brief respite while they try to get Tommy in working order but then he runs off, yelling and overconfident and Sam can’t fucking _wait_ for this goddamn job to be over and done with, especially when the Wendigo decides that it wants to play with _him_. He fucking _misses_ when he tries to shoot the thing so of course Sam runs, frantically trying to get the Collins to safety. Before he knows it, the Wendigo's coming toward them at an alarming pace and the Collins are all huddled behind Sam because they’ve backed themselves into a corner and he’s posturing and baring his teeth, eyes flashing that deep alpha red, and snarling back at the fucking Wendigo because he doesn't know what else to do and he’s 90% sure that he’s gonna die.

He’s really glad he doesn’t actually end up dying, but he’s getting kind of sick of having to be rescued by Dean.

They all limp out of the caves, dirty and more than a little exhausted when the thing's finally dead. Sam slumps back against a tree, just trying to remember how to do that cool inhale/exhale thing that humans need to do to, y'know, _survive_ and somehow, between one breath and the next, the cops and the park rangers are there and he’s doing his best to ignore the creeping feelings of inadequacy and inability to protect while also trying to remember the story they all agreed on. He hates to admit it but he’s relieved as they watch the ambulance take off with the Collins in the back, broken and bruised and a little worse for wear but still _whole_. 

The least he deserves for his suffering is to be able to drive the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bluh. not really happy with this one.
> 
> posted: 3/18/2017  
> revised: 3/19/2017


	3. you took everything except my foolish pride

s01e03

______

Sam’s still trying to sort through his thoughts and emotions, all the while battling with his instincts as he sits in the Impala, suffocating in the enticing scent of apple pie. He rolls his eyes and huffs in annoyance because every thought that comes through his mind is some form of the same cliché mate-scent bullshit and he’s bored out of his skull, mentally clocked out somewhere around the 400 mile mark and he’s itching to do _something_ other than drown in his own head. His gaze slips sideways to where Dean is busy beating out some godawful hair metal rhythm on the steering wheel as they cruise down back-country highways and he lets out a shuddering breath, two miles short of sticking his whole goddamn head out the open window for some sort of reprieve. 

”Hey, Sammy. You doin’ okay over there?”

“Yeah. ‘M fine,”

Dean makes a face like he wants to call Sam on his bullshit, opens his mouth and almost does, but instead he just purses his lips— _pouting, he’s fucking pouting_ and god it’s… it’s _something_ —and Sam licks his own chapped lips, a knee-jerk reaction. His eyes snap back up to Dean’s own but his brother’s already focused on the road ahead and Sam wants to fucking scream.

He’s stupidly grateful when they finally, _finally_ pull into the parking lot of some cutesy small town pub-maybe-restaurant-kind-of-diner that doesn’t know what it’s doing with itself—Sam’s pretty sure he can relate—and he practically falls out of the car in his haste to get away from Dean. They do their thing, drink at least four or five cups of coffee each. Dean gets busy flirting with the pretty beta waitress and Sam gets busy broadcasting his best alpha ‘fuck off’ vibe but it doesn’t really deter the waitress and he just wants to _go_. God, he feels so fucking restless, like he’s gonna claw his way out of his own skin if something doesn’t happen soon. He practically hauls Dean out the door when they finally agree on a case, dragging him back to the Impala and all but shoving his brother into the driver’s seat and starting the car for him.

Sam’s a little more okay with being on the road this time around, ‘cause it means that he has Dean to himself and he closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in the scent of _omega_ , just for a little while. Just for a mile or two.

______

Things don’t start getting interesting for them in Wisconsin until they meet the silent boy, Lucas. Sam can see how Dean is immediately, inexplicably drawn to him. It obviously has something to do with his brother’s omega instincts but Dean, bull-headed and so very laughably in denial, won’t hear of it so Sam just keeps his mouth shut and watches soundlessly as Dean builds a shaky bond with the pup. His breath gets caught in his throat every time he sees his brother’s gaze follow the boy, eyes dark and saddened and it _hurts_ to watch Dean this way. To watch _him_ hurting and withdrawn. Sam just clenches his jaw and watches the frown deepen and the dimples that appear when Dean remembers something particularly depressing and he steels his will against his instinct to comfort and he waits and he watches as Lucas finally looks at Dean and hands him the drawing of the yellow house.

And maybe it’s a little weird, a little not quite Winchester, when he not-so-casually rests his arm across the back of the front seat of the Impala, letting his hand lie, hot and heavy at the base of Dean’s neck. His brother doesn’t comment, though, and Sam appreciates that little bit of leeway because he isn’t sure if he’s doing it to comfort Dean or _himself_.

______

Things are fucked when they hear about Peter, the dead boy who never came home, who’s gone forever along with his new red bike and they just get worse when the brothers Winchester pull up to the Carlton residence. Bill’s on the lake already and Sam knows it’s a lost cause even before he and Dean start running, both of them screeching to a halt at the end of the rickety dock and trying desperately to get the old man to turn the goddamn boat around and then—

The water _explodes_. Or at least, that’s what it looks like from Sam’s perspective but he doesn’t dwell on it for too long because he suddenly has an armful of _Dean_ who’s flinched back so violently that he runs straight into the solid wall of Sam’s chest. His arms come up reflexively, bracing around Dean in a protective hold and he’s got one hand around his brother’s waist and the other at the back of his neck again. Dean’s subconscious has him seeking out the alpha’s scent and Sam can feel how tense his brother is, how he’s upset and _angry_ that they couldn’t save Bill Carlton. Angry that they’re losing people left and right. Angry because they haven’t put a stop to it yet. 

They’re both breathing heavily when the water finally settles, trying to reorient themselves after the adrenaline from the short-lived chase and the shock of Peter’s wrath. Sam’s still got his arms around Dean and he’s only just beginning to lean down, tentatively nosing at his brother’s neck and trying to scent him, to tell him that _it’s okay_ when Dean seems to remember himself and he jerks backward, out of Sam’s arms and he just barely manages to catch the idiot before he careens backward off the slowly rotting wood of the dock and into the lake. Dean doesn’t even look Sam in the eye before he stalks away, off the dock and back toward the Impala. Sam watches him go, narrows his eyes and remembers to _breathe_. He’s had to do that a lot lately. Had to remind himself how to breathe around Dean.

______

They’re both still trying to shake off the lingering feelings of frustration and concern that cling to them like tar when they walk through the doors of the police station and Sam’s somehow more startled than his brother is when Lucas, wild fear and a broken pleading _look_ in his deep, dark eyes, all but launches himself at Dean, whining and whimpering, pitched high and desperate. Sam’s heart stutters and he can only watch as Dean’s instincts immediately take over, letting a wave of _calm safe warm gentle omega protector love_ engulf the pup and as he gentles his voice, keeping it strong and reassuring, even though he’s clearly unnerved by the event.

Sam has to clench his fists and dig his nails into his palms, white-knuckled, and swallowing harshly against the blossoming warmth that spreads through his chest and up his throat. His mate is such a good omega and god but it hurts to watch, hurts to feel the tendrils of pride and affection for Dean unfurl, blossoming with every beat of his heart, wrapping around his ribs, squeezing and cracking with each stuttering _thump-thump_. It’s fucking _painful_ to watch his mate with a pup, so much more wrenching than he thought it ever would be. He feels like the butt end of a really shitty cosmic joke and it’s almost cruel the way Dean is _so good_ with the pup and the way that he would be _so good_ as Sam’s mate. 

______

Dean’s been brooding in silence since they left the police station, figurative tails between their legs, and it’s suffocating Sam. He absolutely _hates_ feeling so helpless, unable to comfort his brother, his _mate_ , like he wants to. He’s startled out of his thoughts by Dean’s voice, more tentative and soft than Sam’s used to. He snaps his head around to look at Dean so quickly that he’s pretty sure he gives himself whiplash but it doesn’t really matter because Dean sounds so uncharacteristically _anxious_.

“What if we take off and this thing isn’t done, y’know? What if we’ve missed something? What if more people get hurt?”

His brother’s brow is creased with worry and he’s frowning again, concerned and uncertain, while his eyes bore into Sam’s own, and Sam— _stupid, stupid, fuck_ — can’t help himself when he asks “But why would you think that?” in a voice sounding far more disbelieving than he meant it to. Dean’s eyes shutter back into darkness and he drops his gaze from Sam’s, back to the inky blackness of the night around them. 

“Because Lucas was really scared.” He sounds quiet and almost distraught.

“That’s what this is about?”

“I just don’t wanna leave this town ‘til I know the kid’s okay.” Dean’s voice wavers, breaks on the last word like he’s maybe trying not to cry and doing a particularly shitty job at it and Sam is so shocked by the total 180 in personality that the sarcastic comment he was ready to throw out dies on his tongue and only thing he can do is shut his mouth with an audible clack of teeth. 

Displeasure and pure _worry_ emanate from his brother and mix into something that smells a lot like the musty permeating scent of mould, and Sam breathes it in, heavy and infectious in his lungs. He’s agitated the entire way back into town, even more so when they come to stand on Andrea and Lucas’ doorstep and the house is too dark, too quiet. 

The agitation turns into the frantic need to _help_ and _protect_ when the kid answers the door, eyes wide and frightened and the three of them race up the waterfall stairs to where the pup’s mother is fucking _drowning_ in the locked bathroom. Dean gets the door open and Sam all but throws the pup at his brother, trusting the omega to take care of the kid while Sam puts every ounce of energy left in his body into saving Andrea. He gets her out of the overflowing black hole of the bathtub and he’s dimly aware of Dean hovering in the background, reeking of distress until Sam finally manages to stand on shaky legs, pulling an exhausted and traumatized Andrea onto her feet after him.

Dean’s got the pup in his arms at this point, holding him with a fierce protectiveness while Lucas finds comfort in the omega’s scent. Sam feels the initial rush of adrenaline fading and it leaves him bone-tired and weary while the three of them wait in the living room for Andrea to pull herself together and reconvene with them. He watches his brother pace, still refusing to let go of Lucas, who’s conked out in his arms and Sam _aches_. His muscles, his mind, his soul. He aches for something he wants but can’t have. He turns his head and pretends that he isn’t falling apart from the inside out.

______

”Dean, please. You’re practically smothering him,” It's been a little over an hour and Sam’s trying to coax Dean into letting him take the pup. 

The omega shoots him a half-hearted glare but relinquishes his hold on Lucas so that Sam can take him and lay him gently on the sofa. Sam feels bad, taking him from Dean like that, but if they’re going to get anything done his brother can’t be walking around with an armful of pup—even if the imagery has Sam’s alpha side rumbling in contentment and his chest aching and hollow. Andrea finally joins them after they’ve made themselves at home in her kitchen, sharing a pot of coffee between the two of them. She politely, distantly declines when they offer her a cup and she looks pretty unsteady on her feet so Sam gently guides her over to sit at the table for a talk while Dean excuses himself to do some snooping.

The revelation that the sheriff had something to do with Peter’s death isn’t quite as surprising as Sam would like it to be, neither is the discovery of Peter’s red bike in the back lawn or the gun pointed right at them shortly after their discovery. The ensuing conversation with the sheriff about Peter’s drowning is so unhelpful that Sam can feel the frustration building inside of him—frustration at the sheriff and Bill Carlton for doing what they did, frustration that they let the body go in the lake, frustration that they can’t ever just have a simple fucking salt-and-burn-and-be-done-with-it case.

Once they’ve spotted Lucas by the water, it’s a fucking free for all and Sam can’t seem to focus on anything that’s going on for more than a second or two. They’re all running frantically toward the lake and Sam catches a glimpse of Peter’s spirit in the stygian depths before he and Dean jump in headfirst, searching the yawning depths for any sign of Lucas.

It’s a goddamn miracle that Dean manages to find the pup at all, probably has something to do with the bond between them that has strengthened immeasurably in their time together but Sam can’t contemplate the wonders of instinct and biology while his lungs are burning and his fingers are going numb from the freezing cold of the lake.

______

It takes an ungodly amount of time but they eventually find themselves back in their motel room after ensuring that Andrea and Lucas are both going to be okay. By the time they’ve showered, dressed and packed the shadows are growing long outside the windows and they’re itching to get out of town—Sam because he’s always restless these days and Dean because, loathe as he is to admit it, he knows that it’s going to _hurt_ , leaving the pup that he’d bonded with so quickly and so closely behind. Sam’s picked up on Dean’s mood and he’s trying of think of something to say to break the sombre silence that’s settled over them. 

“Look, we’re not gonna save everybody.” And fuck, that wasn’t at all what he’d meant to say. 

“I know,” Dean replies in a voice thick with _something_.

The moment is broken by the arrival of Andrea and Lucas so they school their faces and say their goodbyes and Sam pretends that he can’t feel Dean’s creeping sadness as they speed down the road, toward nowhere and everywhere all at once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still trying to get the feel for this. hoping the chapters'll get a little smoother after a lil while. 
> 
> posted: 3/20/2017  
> revised: 3/20/2017  
> revised: 3/20/2017


	4. can you help me occupy my brain?

s01e04

______

Sam’s been awake far longer than is considered healthy and it feels like stars are buzzing under his skin, singing in his blood and making him _itch_ , deep in his soul, every time he lets his eyes wander to where Dean is sprawled out on his bed. The itch turns into an _ache_ whenever his gaze catches on the skin that’s showing where Dean’s worn t-shirt has ridden up to expose the dip of his lower back, soft sweet skin mellowing into little shadowed pools of the dimples that show right above the slope and swell of his ass. There’s a fire burning in Sam’s belly, crackling and roaring and consuming the stars throughout his body and he’s _dying_. So he leaves for a few hours, meanders through the small town they’re holed up in and grabs coffee at the only place showing signs of life at—god, 4:30 in the morning.

It’s _worse_ when Sam gets back with the coffee because Dean is subdued and sleepy and his hair is mussed and all of his sharp edges have been worn away by the night. His voice is gentle and hazy, like the hours of a slow summer morning just before the glow of night recedes and the dew evaporates from the warm green grass. Sam is desperate to keep this blurred, soft version of his brother, so he’s more than a little annoyed when Dean keeps trying to discuss things that Sam just wants to forget. He’s getting lost in the depths of Dean’s observant— _always observant, always knows more than he lets on_ — eyes and if Sam doesn’t come up for air soon he’ll be gone, faded away just like the darkness of early dawn. 

The phone rings and it’s enough to jolt them both out of their thoughts. Sam’s already up and packing the bags by the time Dean hangs up and they’re out the door in record time. The only hint of them left in the room when Sam closes the door for a final time is the discarded to-go cups in the trash and the lingering smell of crisp autumn evenings as their scents mingle in the empty space.

______

Sam can’t hide his shock when the boring Pennsylvania beta, Jerry, casually throws out the stray comment about _John_ and _Stanford_ and _proud_ , just like Dean can’t hide the pleased little smile that breaks on his sweet lips, like he’s _content_ at the thought of his alphas getting along. Sam has to swallow the flare of irritation that burns its way up his throat at the thought and if he’s quiet and moody for the rest of their meeting with Jerry—well, Dean doesn’t comment on it.

Their next couple of interviews are laced with tension and neither of them can get a clear picture on what they might be dealing with so they end up leaving more frustrated than when they began. It’s only after they’ve gotten the scrapings from the wreckage and had them analysed and confirmed as sulphur by Jerry that it actually begins to feel like they’re getting somewhere.

… Then, just as quickly, they’re getting nowhere. Because, somehow, Amanda isn’t terrified of getting back onto a plane and they can’t convince her to stay on the goddamn ground. Sam’s trying to get Dean to move because they have to get tickets, go through security and get checked in with what scant little time they have before Amanda’s flight takes off when he’s suddenly hit with the jolting smell of souring apples and _fear_ and Sam realizes. He realizes that Dean is _terrified_ to get on that plane. And Sam, who’s quickly running out of time, makes the dumbest suggestion possible.

“Alright, I’ll go.”

“What?” Somehow the omega manages to sound both terrified and indignant and Sam would be amused if they weren’t _wasting precious time_.

“I’ll do this one on my own,”

“What are you, nuts?” Dean’s voice holds a note of panic. “You said it yourself—the plane’s gonna crash!”

Sam makes an aborted move forward, to try to comfort his brother, but he stops himself before he can reach him and starts pleading instead—and god, what a sight they must make. Big intimidating alpha, imploring an omega to do something instead of just _making_. Instead of bending Dean to his will like some lithe green sapling and Sam would laugh if it wouldn’t make things worse. These people have no idea how difficult it is to bend Dean’s will, even if it means the best for him. They have no idea that Dean isn’t some omega to be tamed and cowed. That Sam could never bring himself to do such a thing to his brother’s wild beauty anyway.

Sam hovers the entire way onto the plane, offering barely-there touches as a way of saying that he’s sorry that Dean has to do this and reassurance. Dean seems more annoyed than grateful but when Sam’s large hand settles on his knee when they’re finally seated, he doesn’t make any move to get Sam to let go. His alpha side is pleased at the ability to offer solace to his mate and not be pushed away in the process. There’s a great, rumbling _purr_ gravelling around in his chest and trying to break free and Sam swallows it down, trying to focus on the task at hand.

While Dean’s off figuring out whether or not Amanda’s got a demon in her, Sam is trying his very best to _not_ think about how he’d like to nose at the junction where Dean’s neck meets his shoulders, about how he’d like to scent him, to comfort him, to lick and bite and _taste_ —

And Dean comes back, bearing news that Sam doesn’t want to hear, news that only means that they’re going to have to prolong Dean’s anxiety, and at this point his brother smells so much like fear that even the plane full of betas are beginning to notice that there’s a distressed omega on board. The plane hits turbulence and Dean _whimpers_ and Sam’s stomach drops and he’s got his hand in Dean’s before he can think about his actions, lacing their fingers together and gently rubbing his thumb along the back of Dean’s hand, feeling the _smooth silk soft wonder what it’s like everywhere else_ skin and offering what comfort he can. Dean shoots him a look but doesn’t pull away and Sam’s grateful for the fact that he’s always been the tactile one—was always a little touchy-feely with Dean growing up—so the contact isn’t questioned, not really.

Sam feels like his chest is imploding, creating a dark and yawning chasm within him and Dean’s fucking _scent_ , laced with fear and somehow still so, _so_ good, is doing _things_ to him. It’s eating away at his lungs, his tongue, his resolve. So he squeezes Dean’s hand before gently extricating his long fingers from Dean’s own and replacing them with the EMF reader. His brother just breathes through his nose and does his best not to look like a spooked colt. It doesn’t work. Sam turns his head and looks out the window, hiding his shaking hands.

______

Turns out, the co-pilot’s the demon and it also turns out that the demon’s a _lil bitch_ that decides to just cut out the middle man and down the fucking plan itself. Sam’s trying to exorcize the damn thing while the plane is swiftly and efficiently plummeting them to their _doom_ and everyone’s _panicking_ and over the chaos and the noise he can hear Dean. His sweet, beautiful omega, who’s making these horrible frightened _whimpers_ , whines ripped from his chest and throat in such a frantic, high pitch that Sam can feel his heart _shatter_ and turn to dust, thickening the blood that’s raging through his arteries and he’s deafened by his own desperation.

He’s _howling_ the last of the Latin by the time he reaches the end of the exorcism and by the time the plane levels out he’s already by Dean’s side and they’re both panting, making desperate little noises—Dean’s are full of terror and Sam’s are sympathetic echoes and he just feels so _relieved_ that he closes his eyes and ducks his head to press a barely-there kiss to the top of Dean’s head, breathes in his scent with something close to desperation. He holds his brother with shaking arms and they are _never, ever_ getting on a plane again after this.

Dean pushes him away after a while, won’t make eye contact with Sam the entire way back to the airport, not until he’s got his feet on solid ground again. The change in his demeanour is quick, all signs of the shaking, terrified omega that he’d been on the plane evaporate with the haze of the asphalt and roar of turbines. Sam just watches him with shadowed eyes and mourns for the walls that Dean’s building up quicker than he can tear them down.

By the end of the day, Sam feels more hollow than he has in a very long time. The open road stretches before them, and Dean looks beautiful, radiant in the setting sun as they drive onward. Sam feels empty. He feels like a pot that’s boiled all of its water away, is cracking and burning from the heat of his brother’s words, his eyes. Sam closes his own and rests his head against the cool of the window. There are no stars tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting to explore sammy's darker thoughts and feelings. this is also where i start to change some things around a little more noticeably in episodes
> 
> posted: 3/23/2017


	5. i’m so sick and tired, trying to turn the tide

s01e05

______

Sam makes the mistake of falling asleep. He drifts through valleys of darkness and fire that burn and tear and _suffocate_ , leaving him in bits and pieces, tatters of guilt and blood in the dry wind of his mind. He wakes up with a pained noise hurtling out of his throat and crashing into his clenched teeth, dying on his tongue and Dean’s hand anchoring him in the present. He wishes he’d stayed awake.

Toledo is just the way Sam had expected it to be—midwest and alarmingly small-town even for a well sized city—and even the beta who stubbornly tells them ‘no admittance’ in the morgue is cowed by Sam’s dominating alpha scent and the way he lilts his voice _just right_ , just this side of commanding instead of asking. He smells the sharp spike of cinnamon and alluring _vanilla_ in Dean’s scent shortly afterward, the way his brother licks his lips and averts his eyes, shifting restlessly on his feet, before the scent is effectively cloaked once again by the sour smell of the morgue. Sam eyes him hungrily, mind whirring with this newfound discovery, until the beta clears his throat uncomfortably and tells them to follow him.

The beta is _disturbingly_ excited about the dead body, and Sam’s relieved when they finally leave. He shudders and breathes a little more easily in the sunshine. 

______

They crash the wake, narrowly avoid getting the cops called on them and Sam has to stop himself from acting like a total knothead when Dean gets that exhilarated look in his eyes and looks up at Sam from between his lashes, coy and excited. Sam has to bite his tongue until he tastes the copper-salt tang of blood to keep the desire at bay. Then they’re on their way to the library and he must be making a face because Dean shoots him a quizzical look to which Sam gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he mutters something about ‘lack of sleep’. Dean doesn’t quite seem like he believes him but he doesn’t call him on it either so Sam is grateful.

Sam’s always enjoyed this part of hunts—the research, the bookwork, losing himself in the black and white of print, the torn pages of old, yellowing newspapers. He enjoys it even more when he’s got Dean sitting across from him at the small table that they’ve commandeered, pouty lips framing the pen in his hand, chewing and tonguing at it absent-mindedly. What was it that Freud said about oral fixations? Something about psychosexual development and— _god what is he doing with his tongue?_

Sam clears his throat and shifts in his seat, trying to get his brain back from the short-circuit it’s been experiencing for the past several minutes that he’d been spending watching Dean. His hands are white-knuckled from gripping the book he was supposed to be looking through, and his stomach hurts where its pressed against the edge of the table, as though he could shield his arousal from prying eyes.

He’s pretty sure that he reeks of _lust_ at this point, but Dean seems engrossed in the article that he’s reading and he hasn’t noticed yet. Sam takes the opportunity to practically bolt from his spot, hoping that going outside and getting some fresh air will help clear his… mind.

______

Dean looks beautiful, ethereal in the purple-blue glow from the laptop that they’ve got set up in the motel room. Sam almost feels guilty for thinking this while they’re discussing a murdered girl, but he can’t help himself. Not when Dean’s got that sparkle in his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips because they’re that much closer to getting closure for this spirit and these people.

Sam thinks that Dean’s beautiful and that he’s probably, _most definitely_ going to hell.

He wrenches his eyes away from Dean’s face _his mouth his lips the curve and dip of his neck and the edge of the collarbone that’s peeking from under his shirt_ and glues them to the computer screen, hoping that the grisly story will help keep him on track. His eyes won’t follow the words and he can feel Dean’s heat next to him, solid and secure. He’s shivering in the luminescent night. 

______

On the way to the antique shop, Sam still feels the gravitational pull of darkness and _guilt_ inside of him and Dean doesn’t seem too happy about it. The car feels too small for them. Sam can almost hear his own heart breaking when Dean says that he should blame _him_ , of all people. Sam could never blame his brother for anything, especially not for Jess’ death. He just… doesn’t quite know how to articulate that he’s so guilty because he’d been running from his feelings for his brother, who by some fucked up twist of fate is also his _mate_. Definitely doesn’t know how to tell Dean about the dreams.

Sam tries to get his hands to stop shaking enough that he can get a good grip on the lock pick so that they can break in without actually needing to _break in_. It’s dark as hell in the antique shop and Sam feels on edge from the eerie ticking of the clocks that surround them. A shiver runs like lightning down his spine and snaps him whip-quick with panic, fear, _apprehension, guilt, shame, killed her killed her killed her_ —

The blood dripping from his eyes gets into his mouth, drowning him, and he feels deja-vu. While the ghost is busy liquefying his insides and telling him what a bad boy he’s been, all Sam can think about is Dean, Dean, Dean, _Dean I’m so sorry Dean I love you Dean please_.

______

They take care of the undead mirror bitch and Sam’s itching to get the hell outta dodge. He’s busy watching the people pass by and mentally mapping the streets in his head, counting how many are left until they’re out of city limits.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean sounds a little bit wrecked, a little bit weary, but mostly tired. The tone tugs at Sam’s tar-black heart strings and rattle the things that have taken root in his chest. “Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret was,”

“Look. You’re my brother, and I’d die for you,” His feelings are bubbling up into his throat, leaving him choked and struggling for words that trip and crash, mixing together in their mania. They’re spilling over themselves trying to get out of his lying, secret-keeping mouth. “But there’s some things I need to keep to myself.”

His gaze slips out the window because he can’t look at Dean, who looks like he’s worn thin and running on fumes, same as Sam. His bones feel old, his soul doesn’t seem to be faring much better and he’s seeing ghosts in his waking hours. 

He almost wishes the tears of blood had killed him. Wishes they had at least absolved him of his sins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter gets a little clunky in the middle, sorry
> 
> posted: 3/27/2017


	6. don’t drink poison whiskey, don’t you drink it boy

s01e06

______

It’s been a few days, a few hundred miles. Enough time and countryside for Sam to not feel like his mind’s being torn apart by ghosts in the waking hours and demons in the night. He knows he’s been distant, almost feels bad about it when Dean tries to talk to him then gives up within the hour, soft pout on his face.

He’s trying to do anything but think of the way that his guilt is bubbling up under his skin, corroding him like acid and burning him alive. He vaguely wonders if that’s what happens when someone goes to hell as he _tap-tap-taps_ away on the phone in his hand, pretending like he isn’t a gaping chasm of anxiety and stress and every other negative thing he can think of. 

He tries to keep his tone light when Dean’s accusation of _liar_ slips and slithers its way out of his sullen mouth but Sam’s pretty sure he doesn’t do a real convincing job of acting unaffected when Dean starts to act like a smug smart ass. Sam just sighs and goes back to reading emails, trying to ignore the way that Dean’s remarks burrow into him, niggling little things that bite and itch.

Dean doesn’t like it when Sam says that he wants to go to St. Louis, but Sam doesn’t care. Dean definitely doesn’t like it when Sam lets a little alpha creep into his voice while they’re arguing, and Sam cares enough to do the smart thing and shut his trap. It doesn’t stop him from fixing Dean with a look, though, and for whatever reason—for reasons that lurk just inside the pandora’s box that he doesn’t want to open right now—that gets them on the road again, heading back the way they came.

______

Becky’s parents’ house is exactly how Sam remembers it: stale and conformist, something out of a box, neatly put together with beige and dark wood accents. It still makes him want to retch when he imagines the dullness of a life in a house like that. He almost feels sorry for Becky until he remembers that she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t know about the monsters under her bed, in her closet. She doesn’t know that the Winchesters, and people like them, keep her safe and sound at night while she dreams of better things, like a solid career and a loving family.

He _hates_ it. Hates that he was so close to fooling himself into thinking that a life like that was for him. What a fucking idiot.

So he gets down to business as quickly as possible. It’s laughably easy to convince Becky to trust him, to trust Dean, and he should probably feel worse about lying to his _friend_ than he actually does but he doesn’t. Not until Dean opens his pretty, accusing mouth and Sam’s stomach sours and he can feel the acid in his skin infecting his bones again. He feels tired. Tired of arguing with Dean, who’s just arguing against taking the case to be difficult and prove some stupid point that’s either just for himself or that’s going completely over Sam’s head and he _doesn’t care_.

Dean’s resignation when he gives in doesn’t feel like a victory.

______

Sam feels the darkness creeping in him, a lead weight in his belly that settles once they enter the crime scene. The gore doesn’t faze him, nor does the obvious _terrorguiltsadness_ that’s been following Becky like a cloud since they arrived. The cause of his unease is not the crime scene itself, but the fact that he remains unaffected and aloof. He knew these people. Thought he knew them well enough to call them friends. Apparently not well enough to actually feel anything but a mild curiosity and that’s what makes him sick.

His teeth feel too tight and he feels transparent, even when he and Dean settle into their usual banter. Dean must pick up on it, somehow, because he softens and his eyes ask questions that his mouth won’t, knowing that Sam won’t give him the answers he wants. 

The reprieve that comes in the form of an interruption from Becky is a welcome change; it allows the both of them to pretend like there isn’t something else going on behind dark eyes and darker thoughts.

______

Becky is no longer a welcome reprieve when he gets the call after they begin exploring the sewers—anger and betrayal lacing her voice, turning it into something harsh and brittle, which eats away at the ever-present guilt in Sam’s mind. When he hangs up the phone, Dean mistakes the look on his face for upset caused by torn friendship.

“I hate to say it, but that's exactly what I'm talking about,” Dean’s never been very good at comforting when he knows that he’s just been proven right, when he lets just a hint of victory slip into his voice “You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you they'd be freaked. It’s just, it’d be easier if—”

Sam breathes through his nose and tries to remember life at Stanford. Life before Dean came back. “—if I was like you.” Sam finishes the sentence and traps the breath in his lungs until it burns. 

“Hey, man, like it or not, we are _not_ like other people,” 

Sam would laugh at how dead-fucking-centre that statement is if Dean knew exactly how true his words were. He just narrows his eyes and lets out the breath he’d been holding, slow and cautious, like he isn’t quite sure he wants to let it go just yet. 

He feels a little better when Dean hands him a gun, feels okay enough to give his brother a ghost of a smile and follow him toward the darkness of the nearest manhole.

______

The sewers are dark and damp, tinged with a sort of mania-inducing sour fear. Sam hates how long it takes his eyes to adjust and even when they do, it’s as though he’s trying to see through twilight fog—it’s all shadowy shades of blues and greys and endless black. The water that coats everything glitters and shines like stars when they pass and Sam almost feels like the tunnel is a black hole and he’s following Dean to his death. He realizes with a jolt that he’d be okay with that. He would suffocate in the vast expanse of space, surrounded by weakly shining stars if it meant that he was there alongside his moon, shining so caustically, corroding the threads of the universe as they float in the nothingness.

The spell is broken when they find the thing’s lair and it’s trail of… _leavings_.

He has approximately two seconds to be grossed out before it all goes to hell and the thing shows up behind Dean like they’re in some kind of shitty B-rate horror movie. He lets out a sharp breath that most definitely isn’t a whine, no sir, when the shapeshifter knocks Dean to the side and the harsh echo of metal and muscle and bone reverberate through the small space. Every single instinct that he has tells him to stay and protect his mate when Dean hollers at him to go after the damn thing but he ignores the pull, has to ignore it, and takes off after the creature. Sam doesn’t realize that Dean had followed them until he hears his brother struggling to get out of the manhole, doing his damnedest to suppress sharp, quiet whines that are ripped from his throat every time he moves and it impacts his shoulder. Sam has to physically lock his muscles stop himself from immediately moving to Dean’s side to help him, knowing that it would only annoy his brother.

He knows that Dean’s suggestion to split up is the best way to go but he can’t help the feeling that curls in his belly and causes him to tense his jaw in an effort not to turn his head and search for Dean when he’s supposed to be looking for the shapeshifter and for some reason, he isn’t comforted when Dean finally meets up with him again and he feels like there’s something that’s not quite right. Sam finds himself wishing that he could smell anything but the horrid stench of sewer that’s still clinging to both of them as they trudge back to the car. 

“You got the keys?” 

And that causes Sam’s stomach to drop. He plays it cool even though his insides feel hollow when he tosses the imposter the keys to the Impala and the thing wearing Dean’s face catches them like it’s no problem at all because he knows for sure that’s not his brother standing in front of him. 

He doesn’t appreciate that the shapeshifter is in his brother’s skin, knowing that Dean is somewhere else, injured, alone and probably pretty fucking mad that he’d been caught. He really doesn’t appreciate when the thing decides to take him by surprise with a crowbar.

______

Sam does not want to spend his last days in a grungy sewer tunnel, being mocked by a crude copy of his mate. Definitely not when the thing has access to his brother’s memories, to _their_ memories. Not when the shapeshifter knows.

It doesn’t hurt so much when the shifter physically hits him as it does when the thing gets all up in his space, wrong scent, wrong personality, right face and decides to inform Sam of his brother’s abandonment issues. 

“You got to go to college. He had to stay home,” The guilt weighs heavy, heavier than the weight of deannotdean across his thighs as the shifter moves in and settles, smirking like the cat that got the cream. “I mean _I_ had to stay home. With dad.” Sam’s wrists are rubbing raw from struggling against his bonds.

The thing’s gotten itself comfortable now, face to face with Sam, arms draped over his shoulders and far too close for comfort. “You don't think I had dreams of my own? But dad needed me,” The words slither out of deannotdean’s pretty, condemning mouth and the vicinity is making Sam’s head swim. He’s beginning to smell budding apple blossoms and the smallest drops of vanilla. The rumblings of a growl are brewing in his chest but it continues, undeterred. There’s a cruel playfulness in the green of hisbrothernothisbrother’s eyes. 

“See, deep down I'm just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life,” It’s practically purring as it leans in and Sam jerks his head back, knocking it into the metal pylon behind him. The reverberation in his skull is a nice distraction for a few seconds. “Me, I know I'm a freak. And sooner or later, everybody's gonna leave me.”

A snarl rips out of Sam’s throat, unbidden, and his voice is rougher than he’d like. “What are you talking about?”

The shifter’s smirk is back full-force and it extracts itself from Sam, finally putting some distance between them. Sam’s body aches for the weight of Dean across his thighs and his head spins around the shifter’s next words. “You left. Hell, I did everything dad asked me to and he ditched me, too. No explanation. Nothing.”

Sam whines low in his throat even though he tries to fight it. Guilt tastes like bile in his mouth.

______

While Sam is fucking thrilled that Dean’s okay, he’s a little less enthusiastic that they now have to deal with Dean being wanted by the police. Sam’s never liked cruiser lights, likes them even less when they’re flashing in his eyes along with the beams from flashlights of at least ten officers.

He deals with them just fine because he wasn’t lying when he told Dean that they couldn’t hold him, deals with the long walk from the station to Becky’s house just fine, too, but dealing with the shifter after it knocks him over the head again… not so much. He’s tied up _again_ and the thing is talking _again_ and this time it smells so much like Dean that Sam’s instincts are clouding his head just enough to make him a little bit useless. He’s letting out rumbling growls every so often as he lays on the floor trying to undo the fucking ropes that are binding him.

“Your brother's got a lot of good qualities. You should appreciate him more than you do.” Another snarl rips itself out of Sam’s throat at the intonation behind the words that reminds him of a hot weight across his thighs and he’s going to lose his voice if he keeps this up.

He’s going to lose his sanity if they don’t take care of this goddamn shapeshifter soon.

______

They do, though. Well, Dean does, while Sam is busy gasping for breath on the floor, throat bruised and raw. He watches Dean’s face as he gets closer to the body of the shifter and he watches as the emotions play across his brother’s face—for once an open book, though it doesn’t feel like something Sam should be watching. Dean looks worn around the edges, wary and caged. Sam knows that his brother is itching to leave town, to leave this case behind them. He can see it in the dullness of Dean’s eyes, the rigid slope of his shoulders.

Sam turns his head and lets Becky fret over him.

______

Becky knows about the monsters in her closet now and Sam feels like a black hole. Dean’s cracking jokes as they drive along some no-name highway in the middle of nowhere and Sam feels a darkness inside of him, swallowing him whole.

“You know, I got to say, I'm sorry I'm gonna miss it.”

Sam narrows his eyes “Miss what?” 

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?” 

Sam gives his brother a twitch of a smile even though he feels the black hole inside him growing bigger and they both ignore the way that Dean’s voice is tinged with something not quite sadness and not quite fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not dead and also here's an update  
> fuck hurricanes
> 
> posted: 09/17/2018
> 
> comments make me less depressed (it's time to play: was momo joking or not??)  
> so  
> thanks if you comment  
> and thanks if you leave kudos  
> i appreciate you


	7. you wanna run but somehow you just keep on stayin'

s01e07

______

 

They’ve been on the road for too long, cooped up together in the impala for what feels like a million miles and just about at each other’s throats. Sam’s teeth ache and his tongue is numb with the cutting remarks that they keep throwing at each other. He watches Dean’s brows draw into each other and furrow, his eyes dark and glittering in the reflection of signs that they pass. He opens his mouth to say something but Sam cuts him off before he can even begin.

“Look, I know you don’t really care but can you, for just a second, actually try to help me find dad? Y’know, your _Alpha_? He’s _missing_ and we aren’t doing shit about it. _You_ aren’t doing shit about it.” Sam manages to grind out between clenched teeth and a locked jaw. He’s just so fucking _tense_.

“Sam—” Dean makes a little wounded noise in the back of his throat and his face becomes unreadable.

Sam scrubs a hand over his face breathes through his nose. His eyes are heavy with the weight of sleeplessness and contrition. He’s exhausted and he’s already regretting what he said, especially when Dean’s jaw tightens and his hand grips the wheel so that his knuckles glow white in the lights from the dashboard.

“Look, Sammy,” Dean’s voice is tight and pissed off and Sam can tell that he’s not going to be on Dean’s good side for a while. “I care, alright? I do. I just—I think that right now dad doesn’t want to be found and the best thing we can do to help him is to stay out of it, okay?”

Sam doesn’t answer but he doesn’t ignore Dean, either. He mostly just stares out the window with a resigned tiredness. He’s feeling a gnawing regret and Dean’s loamy petrichor scent of poorly-concealed sadness makes Sam feel like he’s being buried alive. 

Sam closes his eyes and he’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses Dean’s next quiet words, which break a little in the middle and make Sam almost choke on his own emotions.

“I _care_.”

______

 

They decide on a case, mostly to keep their minds occupied and when they finally get to where they’re going it takes a little while to get the frat boys to accept them as some of their own—takes a lot of posturing and being mildly threatening from Sam when the college kids keep side-eyeing Dean like they can’t quite figure out how an omega of all things managed to join a fraternity. 

It somehow makes Sam even more tense than he already was and they must eventually decide that Sam got the frat to let Dean in because they back off eventually, though Sam doesn’t like the calculating looks and suspicious gazes as they make themselves comfortable in the frat house. Dean’s busy pretending like he doesn’t notice the looks and the whispers, but Sam can tell it gets to him anyway, gets under his skin and digs in, because Dean’s acting sharp and gruff and too-tough. 

Behind all that bluster, though, Dean is still soft and pale and freckled with late-summer eyes and early-autumn scent and so very painfully omega. Sam allows himself to wonder, briefly, why Dean never took suppressants when his life would be so much easier as a beta. He’d still be too beautiful and soft in all the right places, but he wouldn’t walk through their world with hunters and civilians and baddies eyeing him up like a piece of meat. People wouldn’t regard him with hunger or suspicion. 

Sam catches the lingering scent of apple pie as he follows Dean up the staircase and stops wondering.

The only break they get is that their “new roommate” is a twiggy little beta who doesn’t care about Dean’s gender either way—only that they can help him get painted for the big game. Sam acts put out but he’s happy enough to play along if it means that Dean gets to unwind for a bit and gather himself before they have to do any real digging.

Sam feels exhaustion in his bones. He doesn’t like being in an academic setting again, so soon after everything, and especially not when he’s already wound tight as hell from their missing father and Dean’s questionable reception into frat life. 

Sam watches the purple-painted beta leave and locks eyes with Dean before collapsing back onto a bed. He closes his eyes and sighs deeply. It’s gonna be a long fuckin case.

______

 

And he’s not wrong. 

The case feels like it drags on forever, between the difficulty of not being able to do research digitally and the frustration of being proved wrong several times before they get it right, Sam just wants to sleep for a thousand years, curled up in the scent of _Dean_ and _home_. 

It’s only after they take care of the hook man and the sweet little whitebread beta preacher’s daughter and they’re on the road again that Sam realizes that he’s stopped feeling jittery, like his bones are trying to break out of his body. He still feels restless and wired, but he doesn’t feel like he’s wound so tight that he’ll snap at any minute. 

Sam closes his eyes and rests his head against the passenger window and tries to pretend that he isn’t slowly, painfully fading out of existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy fuckin hanukkah someone smashed a window and broke into our house and i dropped my laptop and cracked the screen so here's a 900 word chapter because life is a continuous string of disappointments and stressors :^)
> 
> also this chapter is actual shit and i'm rly sorry about that but the next episode is the one with the bugs which is my favourite episode so like... i'm looking forward to writing that one at least
> 
> revised: 3/02/2018


	8. i’m burnin, burnin’, i got the fever

s01e08

______

Sam can’t watch Dean hustle in the crowded bar. His senses are already overwhelmed by the sharpness of alcohol, the musk of what seems like a hundred different scents lingering in the air. Sam’s slipping away in the warmth from the low lights and the bodies that make him feel claustrophobic. 

He can’t sit at the bar anymore, drawing _looks_ from the bartender and other patrons because he’s been glaring at the pool table, nursing the same drink for an hour. He can’t quell what rises inside of him every time Dean laughs too loudly, responds too sweetly, smiles too honey-lovely at some poor sucker who’s boots he’s about to hustle off them. 

So, he goes and sulks on the hood of the car for what feels like forever. In the dim light outside he goes over every printed letter, every misplaced drop of ink of the newspaper that he swiped on his way out of the bar. He’s toying with the idea of going back inside and dragging Dean out by his collar—damn the money—when he hears Dean’s self-satisfied laughter. Sam doesn’t even bother looking his way. 

“You know, we could get day jobs once in a while.” 

“Hunting's our day job. And the pay is crap.” 

“Yeah, but hustling pool? Credit card scams?” Sam knows it’s a losing battle, something they’ve argued about a thousand times before and he knows he’s not going to change Dean’s mind. He pretends it’s the morality of it all that he has an issue with. “It's not the most honest thing in the world, Dean.” 

“Well, let's see… honest… fun and easy.” Dean’s holding his hands like they’re scales, and Sam rolls his eyes and tries not to smile too fondly. Dean lets the hand with the cash in it fall lower than the empty one. “It's no contest. Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do.” 

“Yeah, well,” Sam scoffs, looking away. “How we were raised was jacked.” 

“Yeah, says you.” Dean’s suddenly distracted, counting his money—an evasion tactic, Sam’s mind helpfully supplies. Dean clears his throat and recovers quickly. “We got a new gig or what?” 

“Maybe.” Sam lets the abrupt subject change slide and fills Dean in on the details of the article he was reading. 

He realizes, suddenly, when they’re peeling out of the bar’s parking lot, heading toward Oklahoma, that he feels better than he has in weeks. He gets the feeling it isn’t going to last, but he’s not gonna question things when they’re finally seeming okay, either. 

______ 

It’s… depressing interviewing Dustin’s partner, Travis. It weighs heavy on Sam’s chest even after they’ve left to go looking for the Death Hole™. The heaviness is forgotten as soon as Dean suggests that they flip a coin to decide which one of them is going in the hole. Where a guy _died_. _From mysterious circumstances_.

“Dean, we have no idea what's down there.” 

“All right, I'll go if you're scared,” Dean picks up a coil of rope and Sam knows there’s no convincing Dean that this is a bad idea. “You scared?” 

“Flip the damn coin.” 

“Call it in the air... chicken.” 

Dean flips the coin and Sam’s instincts are really starting to kick in so he catches it mid-air, before his brain really has a chance to catch up with his body. He pockets the coin and picks up the rope, hating himself. 

“I'm going.” 

“I said I'd go!” 

“I'm going.” Sam says again, but this time he lets a little _alpha_ creep into his voice. 

“All right.” Dean’s pissed that Sam used The Voice but Sam doesn’t really care. He’s not letting Dean go down there. 

“Don't drop me.” Sam apologizes anyway, in his own way. 

Dean helps lower him down, with a little less care than he could probably give, but Sam’s kind of busy trying not to be grossed out by all the dead bugs that crunch under his feet when he hits the bottom. It’s _gnarly_. 

“Sounds gross. Havin’ fun yet?” Dean’s cheerful face pops over the side of the opening. 

Sam makes a face and gets to work. 

______

Dean’s not impressed by the beetles but he _is_ enticed by the promise of free food as they’re driving through one of the weird little newly-built suburbs. 

They knock on the door of the ticky-tacky house and a beta who looks exactly like he belongs there opens it with an enthusiastic “Welcome!” 

“This the barbeque?” Dean’s using his ‘completely unassuming blue-collar civilian’ voice and Sam hates it, but he knows it’s the game they have to play to get in with these people. 

“Yeah, not the best weather,” The guy sighs and Sam finds himself absently wishing that the most of his worries were a rained-out barbeque. “But, ah well. What can you do? I'm Larry Pike, the developer here. And you are?” 

“Dean. This is Sam.” Larry doesn’t even look at Dean when he shakes his hand and Sam’s hackles raise even though he knows, logically, it’s probably a subconscious thing. Sam shakes Larry’s hand and doesn’t smile at him. 

“Sam, Dean, good to meet you. So, you two are interested in Oasis Plains?” 

“Yes, sir.” Dean’s demeanour suddenly shifts—he’s caught on to the fact that Larry’s probably had a real old-fashioned upbringing—and now Dean’s looking pretty and homely and every bit the role of an omega who’s starting to think about pups and a nest. 

“Let me just say - we accept homeowners of any race, religion, sexual orientation or... gender.” Sam’s preening at the fact that the guy assumed they were mates, he knows he is and he’s only half-heartedly trying not to because _they are, they’re mates, they belong to each other, they were made for each other_. Dean just smiles tightly at the man and nods. 

“We appreciate that.” Sam says when there’s a silence that gets a little too long. 

“Great! Come on in.” Larry looks relieved that he hasn’t offended them and they follow him in through the house and to the quaint little back yard. They meet the guy’s wife—Joanie—and laugh at Larry’s jokes and make awkward small talk with Joanie when he leaves. They’re both startled when a severe looking woman with an alarming amount of energy ambushes them. 

“Hi! I'm Lynda Bloome, head of sales,” She’s an alpha, it’s written all over her, in her scent, the way she carries herself, the sharp corners of her personality and Dean edges a little bit closer to Sam. “I take it you two are interested in becoming homeowners.” 

“Y-yeah, well...” Sam stutters, trying to gauge whether he should go along with the mates thing or if that’ll piss Dean off. He grabs Dean’s hand anyway and is relieved when Dean only leans into his side. Lynda doesn’t give Sam a chance to speak. 

“Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, sexual orientation or gender.” 

“Right. Um...” Dean smiles awkwardly. “I'm gonna go talk to Larry. Okay, honey?” He tugs on Sam’s hand and gives him a sweet little grin before disentangling himself to find the developer. 

Sam watches him walk away. The side that Dean had been leaning against feels cold. 

______ 

So, Larry has a son who, coincidentally, is weirdly into insects. And then the realtor, Lynda, coincidentally dies that night because of—get this—spiders. And then, coincidentally, they find some creepy fucking skulls in some weird insect-hole in the woods and Sam is entirely _over it_.

He’s not ready to deal with it when Dean tries to give him hell for telling Matt to go to college and follow his dreams. He’s not ready to discuss their family life and every horrible little secret that entails and he’s especially not ready to do it on some college campus in Oklahoma with a box full of skulls in his arms. 

“Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you. Never. He was scared.” 

“What are you talking about?” Sam pretends he’s unaffected but he doesn’t think he actually wants to hear about it. Doesn’t think he’s quite ready. 

“He was afraid of what could've happened to you if he wasn't around,” Dean’s got this sad look on his face and he’s beautiful and Sam doesn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t ever really about dad or school or hunting. “But even when you two weren't talkin'... he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could. Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why didn't you tell me any of that?” Sam feels the beginnings of guilt tendril out in his chest. 

“Well, it's a two-way street, dude. You could've picked up the phone.” This time the sadness extends to Dean’s eyes and Sam’s heart cracks, shame seeping into the hollows of his bones. “Come on, we're gonna be late for our appointment.” 

______ 

They go to the rez after that and Sam wants it to stop being so depressing when they talk to people, but he guesses that they probably shouldn’t be involved in a profession that deals with so many dead people if he doesn’t want things to be so heavy all the time. 

Sam decides, then and there, that he really hates curses. They’re trying to get the Pikes out of their home and somewhere safe and they’re both getting frustrated and panicked even as they break all kinds of speeding laws on their way to the neighbourhood. 

They’re panicked when they pull up and the Pikes are still home and they’re _beyond_ panicked when the swarm finally comes for them, a horrible droning sound following them into the house. 

They get themselves together enough to think and do their job, but everyone’s still terrified. Sam isn’t sure they’re actually going to make it out this time and he knows Dean feels the same. 

“What do we do now?” Larry’s voice is just as scared as Sam feels. 

“Try to outlast them. Hopefully the curse will end at sunrise.” 

Dean comes back with a can of bug spray and it’s almost funny how Joanie reacts, Sam almost smiles but then the bugs actually get in the fucking house and they’re all running for the attic, Dean's makeshift flame-thrower keeping most of the swarm off of them. 

______

They’re all huddled in the attic, watching the insects eat through the roof and Sam feels his heart sink with very second that passes. Sawdust falls to the floor in little piles and the fucking things are swarming them, chewing holes left and right. Dean runs out of bug spray. 

The buzzing reaches a crescendo and they all huddle in a corner. Dean’s trying to shield the Pike family with his body and Sam shields Dean with his own, and he genuinely doesn’t think they’re going to make it until dawn, thinks that this is it. This is how they’re going to go. Brains turned to mush by burrowing, crawling, buzzing insects and—the bugs are suddenly gone. Back through the holes they chewed into the roof and Sam takes a moment to pause, to slump into Dean and bury his nose in Dean’s neck and just _breathe_.

He closes his eyes and tries not to cry when Dean turns around and noses at him, whispering a shaky ‘it’s okay, we’re okay’. Sam wraps his arms around Dean and they stay like that until they’re both a little calmer, a little more grounded. 

______

They leave Oklahoma, the Pikes, the unfinished ticky-tacky houses behind, quiet and thoughtful. 

Dean doesn’t say anything when Sam reaches over and takes his hand, holds it with white knuckles and a deep frown. Sam stares out the window and thinks about how it felt to believe that they might have both died that night, had things gone differently, in a parallel universe. 

To believe that there’s a timeline in which he could’ve lost Dean. 

Sam ponders and Dean drives. Sam’s back to being exhausted and stretched paper-thin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a thesis that's due in two weeks so i figured i'd write some of this and let y'all know that i'm not dead (yet) and i tried something a little different this chapter with using more dialogue from the episode so let me know how u guys feel about that!! i found it kinda fun
> 
> also ya boi took some liberties and didn't quite follow the episode entirely but listen y'all i'm tired and i don't care
> 
> also also the ending is WEAK but SO AM I so it's whatever 
> 
> posted: 3/02/2018


	9. interlude—home

s01e09

______

For the past week, they’ve been sharing a bed at night, since the curse with the insects in Oklahoma. It’s innocent; as innocent as it can be when an alpha and omega who were born _mates_ are sleeping in close quarters, full of fear and just a little bit of desperation. Sam’s been doing a lot more thinking than sleeping, between the claustrophobia of the tiny motel beds and the nightmares of Jess’ death where sometimes it’s Dean up on that ceiling, engulfed in flames. 

For the past week, Sam’s been waking up to the image of Dean’s peaceful face across from him. The sunlight filters in through the thin curtains that cover the windows of their crappy motel room and Dean slips into wakefulness slowly, like he’s resurfacing. Sam holds his breath as Dean’s eyes flutter open, unfocused and so, so green. Sam lets out his shaky breath when Dean’s lips curl into a summer-soft smile and he sighs out a half-conscious _“mornin’ sammy”_.

Sam smiles back, soft and sappy and so full of blind adoration. He bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood.

For the past week, the hole in Sam’s chest has been spreading open, pried wider and wider by the shitty circumstances under which they’re forced to carry on and he can feel the crack-crack-crack of his ribs as they open and fissure under the pressure of his heavy heart.

He feels like he’s being torn open by darkness in the form of roots that spread from his empty-hollow too-full chest all the way to the tips of his fingers. He can’t stop drawing this damned tree; the tree he sees in the corner of his mind, in the landscapes of his dreams. In his blood, in his veins. 

Dean’s talking to him, voice always harsh as if he can hide the softness that lurks beneath the surface. Sam would smile at the thought if he could just stop thinking about this fucking tree.

“Hey!” Dean finally manages to break through the fog in Sam’s mind. “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No, I’m listening,” Sam says, even though his voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming, and his fingers never stop sketching, pen digging dark lines into the pad of paper in his hands. “Keep going,”

Dean keeps talking but Sam tunes it out almost immediately because it finally hits him, the static in his mind is finally coming together to create a clear image—it’s not just some random tree. He’s seen it before. Not in dreams or in his mind, but in the real world, in a past that seems like it was eons ago, in a life that belongs to a stranger.

“Wait, I’ve seen this.” 

“Seen what?” 

Sam ignores him as he scrambles over to dad’s journal and pulls a picture from the pages with hands that are shaking from—something. He carefully doesn’t look at the four smiling faces from a different life, a happier memory, just focuses on that damn tree, sitting in the background plain as day.

“Dean,” He’s breathless, like all of the air has been knocked out of his chest. “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean doesn’t seem annoyed at the interruption, just curious as he watches Sam with _bright, so bright in the morning sun that shines in through the grimy motel window_ viridescent eyes.

“…Back home. Back to Kansas.”

Dean’s breath hitches, caught somewhere in his pale throat between his collarbones and his jaw and those vivid eyes flicker into darkness. He tries to hide it with a scoff. 

“Okay, random,” Dean shakes his head minutely, as if to dispel a thought, a prayer, a spirit. To hide the apprehension in his body, his scent, his voice. “Where’d that come from?”

Sam tries to explain it and tries even harder to ignore the sudden shift in Dean. “All right, uh. This photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where mom died?”

He hands the picture to Dean and doesn’t stare when his face shutters and closes off, a perfect blank mask, just sits in the chair across from him. 

“…Yeah.”

“It didn’t burn down, right? I–I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?”

“I mean, I guess so, yeah.” It’s almost as though Dean can’t tear his eyes away from the picture, locked in a frame of time, caught in limbo on glossy paper. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy, but the people who live in our old house, I think they might be in danger.”

Disbelief cracks the mask on Dean’s face, “Why would you think that?”

“Uh,” Sam trips over himself, his mind racing for an explanation that Dean will feel compelled to humour. “Look just–just trust me on this okay?” God, that was pitiful. He gets up and beelines toward his duffel bag, mentally cursing himself for not being able to come up with anything better than ‘trust me’ while trying to convince a Winchester of something. Idiot. 

“Wh–trust you? C’mon man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little more than that.” Dean’s covering concern with sarcasm again and Sam can’t think of anything better. 

“I just can’t explain it, is all.” Fucking idiot. Think of something, anything else to say. He glances over at Dean while he’s packing and catches the exasperated look that Dean shoots at him.

“Well tough! I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do.” 

Sam sighs and stops his racing hands, thoughts, heart. Focuses on Dean’s eyes. “I have these nightmares,”

“I’ve noticed.” Dean’s not mocking him, just matching Sam’s tired resigned tone.

“… And sometimes they come true.”

Dean makes a face like he can’t decide whether or not he should laugh because Sam’s joking but when Sam just looks at him, he swallows and says, “Come again?”

“Dean, I dreamt about Jessica’s death for days before it happened.”

Dean moves like Sam’s words have physically knocked into him, unbalancing him and turning him pale. “Some people have weird dreams man,” Dean turns as he says the words, sits down on the bed and looks up at Sam. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. 

Sam huffs, lets out a frustrated noise, something between a growl and a sob.

“No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn't do anything 'cause I didn't believe it.” His voice is getting louder, more hysterical the more the dam breaks, but he can’t stop, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can catch them and put them back in his mind where they belong. “Now I'm dreaming about that tree, about our house, and some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that's where it all started, man. This has to mean something, right?” 

Dean breathes in, shaky and unsure. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t—what do you mean you don’t know? Dean,” Sam knows he’s freaking out, that he could be a little calmer about all of this but the realization about this tree and Dean’s subsequent behaviour is fucking unsettling to say the least. “This–this woman could be in danger. I mean, this might even be thing that killed mom and Jessica.”

Dean can’t meet his eyes for some reason and Sam realizes that he’s freaking out partially because Dean’s scent has turned loamy with fear, sour-apple with apprehension. Dean stands up like he needs to get away from Sam, like he might be freaking out too and Sam feels a little bit bad. 

“All right, just slow down, would you?” Dean’s voice is soft, crackly like a radio station that’s too weak to cut through the static. “I mean, first you're telling me that you've got the Shining and then you tell me that I've got to go back home, especially when—” He breaks off, sounding like he’s about to cry, with glassy eyes and yeah, it hurt when Dean called it the shining like he didn’t believe him but Sam feels terrible for making him relive all of the things he’s so desperately trying to forget.

“When what?” Sam’s voice is soft, prompting. Dean’s eyes flicker to him for a moment then fix themselves back onto to the dappled sunlight on the carpeted floor.

He looks at Sam, looks through him and Sam feels his chest hollow as he watches Dean. “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there.”

“Look, Dean,” God, he feels awful. The smell of apples left to rot settles painfully in Sam’s chest and he grits his teeth at the scent—sadness, fear, apprehension, something else he can’t quite figure out. His voice is soft, but adamant, expecting Dean to argue. “We have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know.”

Sam doesn’t comment on the tears that leave sugar-salt tracks over Dean’s freckles as they finish packing and leave the motel behind.

______

A sweet blonde beta, two pups, new town, new house, new life. Alone. It always breaks Sam’s heart that shit like this happens to people who don’t really deserve it. Happens to people who are just trying to get by, trying to make the best of the shitty hand they’ve been dealt.

Jenny’s telling them about the lights, the garbage disposal, the scratching. Dean looks like he’s about to cry and Sam knows he feels the same way. He feels helpless and frustrated because no matter how much they fight, no matter how many monsters they run out of this world, there’s always another one just around the corner, waiting to prey on some unsuspecting family.

It makes him feel sick, makes him tired.

______

They go to Missouri, to learn the truth; and they do. Sort of.

“Well, let me look at you,” She’s bright, so full of laughter and emotion that Sam can’t help the genuine smile that crosses his face as she leads them into her reading room, “ _Ooh_. You boys grew up handsome.” She turns to Dean with a mischievous grin. “And you were one goofy-lookin' kid, too.”

Sam can’t help the startled laugh that escapes him, especially when Dean gets an affronted look on his face. Missouri turns to Sam, though and she takes his hand, her tone changing almost instantly. 

“Sam. Oh, honey,” She says, and the smile fades from Sam’s face and he swallows thickly, thoughts racing through his mind at a mile a minute. “I'm sorry about your girlfriend. And your father. He's missin'?”

He looks over at his brother and confusion is clear on Dean’s pretty face, his mouth open just so in surprise and his clear eyes glittering with questions. Sam looks back at Missouri and clears his throat. “How'd you know all that?” 

“Well, you were just thinkin' it, just now.”

Oh, fuck.

Please don’t say anything about Dean, please. Oh god, that means she knows. _She knows_. And she didn’t look at him with disgust or anger, just sadness and a little bit of pity. The bolt of relief that shoots through Sam is immediately followed by a sharp guilt. Guilt that he cares more about Dean finding out that Sam is hopelessly in love with him than he does about Jess’s death, or their missing father. 

He’s having a really uncomfortable staring contest with Missouri when Dean interrupts. 

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” 

Sam has never been so grateful for Dean’s impatience before. 

“I don't know.” Missouri says, almost apologetically. As though she should know where he is, but she can’t quite find him.

“Don't know?” Sam grimaces at Dean’s tone. “You—you're supposed to be a psychic, right?”

Sam would facepalm if he didn’t have just a shred of dignity left, but he does, so instead he bites his tongue and watches Missouri’s hackles raise. 

“Boy, you see me sawin' some bony tramp in half? You think I'm a magician?” Dean looks like a fish out of water and Sam knows the look he’s wearing is smug, but it’s kind of funny, watching someone finally call Dean out on his attitude. “I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room but I can't just pull facts outta thin air! Now sit! Please.”

Missouri gestures to a sofa and Sam’s still trying not to laugh at the look on Dean’s face. They only just sit down when Missouri gives Dean yet another talking-to.

“Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I'm gonna whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn't do anything!”

“Well you were thinkin' about it!”

This time Sam does laugh, bright and unbridled. He earns himself a sharp elbow in the side from Dean but when Sam looks up his brother is grinning so it’s okay.

______

Turns out, having Missouri on their side is like hiding an ace up the sleeve.

She’s able to convince Jenny to listen to them, to really listen, and she gets them a foot in the door. Sam is stupidly grateful for her help because he knows they wouldn’t really be able to handle this case otherwise.

They step into the house and they’re just two little boys in a world that’s too big for them.

______

Sam enjoys being thrown around rooms as much as the next guy, but at this point in his career it’s getting a little old.

And goddamnit, he _knew_ that poltergeist was still around. Even though Missouri had been sure that it was gone he could feel it, somewhere deep inside. He could feel the residual crackle of restrained energy in his bones. 

He’s being choked out by some invisible malevolent spirit, watching another spirit who’s on fire walk toward him, as you do, when Dean rounds the corner guns blazing and righteous fury in his eyes. Sam only barely stops him in time, only barely manages to find the words he’s looking for through hazy memories and sudden tears.

Their mom is beautiful, even though she’s a ghost. She’s a force to be reckoned with, just like Dean had told Sam thousands of times. When he used to talk about their mom. The strongest omega he ever knew, he’d say, the light of love and a little bit of hero worship in his eyes. 

That light had been dimmed by loss over time. He spoke about her less and less over the years. Sam knew it was painful for his brother, but he missed hearing Dean tell stories about Mary. Missed the way he so fully relived the happiest memories. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, and Sam can’t think past the blind sadness.

Mary meets the poltergeist head-on in a cloud of wrathful fire, fuelled by a wronged mother’s fury and Sam feels it when she’s gone. For real this time. He almost misses the soft _“mom”_ that falls from Dean’s lips, a whisper of sorrow and pain and love and fear. A plea for forgiveness, for hope, for love, for a mother. 

“Now it’s over.” Sam says, the bitter taste of loss fresh on his tongue not for the first time in his life. 

He sees the confusion, the hurt, the regret in Dean’s eyes and reels him in for a hug. Dean is stiff at first, unwilling, but Sam just holds him tighter. It takes a moment, but Dean collapses into Sam and he can feel Dean’s tears wet against his throat as his brother’s silent sobs wrack their bodies. 

Sam just holds him, breathes him in and lets Dean’s tears run their course. Dean smells like sugar, pure and light, like it could blow away in the breeze. It’s something that Sam has never smelled before and the scent makes his heart shatter, glass in his chest. Sam’s voice is soft, raw with emotion and he closes his eyes to his own tears.

“It’s over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holdup it's ya boi(!!!)  
> turns out i'm not actually dead  
> just hella fuckin slow at updating
> 
> sorry y'all, but i hope you enjoyed this one  
> i had fun writing it  
> there's lots of dialogue tho, how do you guys feel about that?  
> more? less? please lemme know
> 
> and everyone in the hurricane's path, please stay safe


End file.
